Pygmalion and Galatea: RusCan Edition
by liberatedpeonies
Summary: Ivan Braginski, a sculptor from Cyprus, is not a fan of women. Things do not turn out as he expected when his sculpture of the most beautiful woman in the world comes alive...as a man.


Night was upon the city. Most of the community was silent, save for the low hum of nature.

A shrill giggle pierced through the quiet, echoing around the cobblestone streets and through every open door; through one of which was one lonely Ivan Braginsky. He sat at a desk in an orderly, neat room. The tall, thick man was sketching out his latest project, a statue. The only problem? He didn't have any ideas. Ivan was a rising star in his home, Cyprus.A sculptor, one of the few left in his bloodline. It was a dying art, if you asked any of the local Cypriots. Many of the Greeks and Romans he has seen come and go were farmers or merchants. Some were fine craftsmen, such as blacksmiths, gem setters, and bakers. But they didn't have a sense of style, a drive to capture the beauty and wonder like the artists of old, or for that matter, Ivan did. At this moment in time, though, Ivan Braginsky wanted nothing more than to be rid of the horrible creatures passing by his home.

Women.

He wanted nothing to do with them, with their incessantly fluttering eyelashes and false giggling and endless gossip, gossip, gossip that positively _grated_ on his nerves. Another thing that Ivan disliked about the gender was their body shape. Much too curvy. Far too wide in some areas and much too short in others. It was so much harder to paint and sculpt, having to get the proportions just right everywhere. The male form, however, was something that the artist admired greatly. Strong, broad shoulders and a slim figure emanated power and protection. Crisp angular lines and order in a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones. It was so decisive. That's what Ivan loved most about the male figure.

The male form, however, was something that the artist admired greatly. Strong, broad shoulders and a slim figure emanated power and protection. Crisp angular lines and order in a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones. It was so decisive. That's what Ivan loved most about the male figure.

In the meantime, the women had flitted away, still much too curvy and far too twittery for Ivan. He got back to work, absently drawing sacred animals, still nothing catching his eye and making him jump up with an epiphany. He was about to start cleaning up when-

"Brother! I am home!" Right. Another problem. Katyusha, his big sister.

"Big Brother! Big Brother! Have you thought about my proposal like you said you would?" And Natalya, his little sister.

"Ah, well-"

She wanted him to marry her, but he couldn't. She was his sister, and he also had that other little problem, the one with women mentioned earlier? So he resolved that he would never marry. His art was enough for him.

"Come, Natalya, let's make dinner." Ivan closed his mouth with an indignant huff. Women and their constant need to interrupt. At least Natalya would leave him in peace. And that's when it hit him. His epiphany. He would show all the men of this world how deficient their little wives were, how mediocre and dull they were compared to the beauty of his latest sculpture...of a woman.

* * *

This was going far worse than he'd expected. Ivan had tried looking for a model. He went first to his sisters. Katyusha, whose breasts were quite-full-couldn't keep control of said breasts as they hung and bounced around too much to keep still enough for sculpting. Natalya, while quite pretty, lacked the charm that Ivan felt he needed for this masterpiece. He sent her away, and heard loud bangs and crashes, along with feral screams that echoed through the rest of the house and caused him to shiver in fear. Ivan had then gone into town, looking for just the right woman for the job.

He asked other men their opinions on some of the women on his list, but they were very unhelpful, only wanting to talk about the wrong things, the ass and the breasts and the type of clothes they wore. Ivan wanted to know what was pleasing about the waist and the brow, the arms, hands, and feet. He returned home, defeated. He would have to create his own woman, from scratch.

Ivan worked through the night, drawing, erasing, sketching, changing, slowly forming a faceless figure into a beauty that would have wars started for her hand.

* * *

He contemplated his predicament. On one hand, the figure was perfect, a being fit to stand among the gods. On the other, it really wasn't what he'd envisioned his final product to be. _Art knows no bounds_ , he told himself and began to prepare for his long work ahead. As he strolled through the marketplace, gathering food and other necessities, he further contemplated his problem. _It couldn't be that bad, right?_ Sure, he'd promised himself that he would sculpt a stunning woman that would rival all others, but this _man_ , this figure he had created, he was the most perfect being that Ivan had ever imagined. He made his way to one of his favorite restaurants, a quiet place on the edge of the market, perfect for thinking. He ordered some ouzo meze and opened his sketchbook. Ivan stared unabashedly at the man, fingers reverently dusting over the graphite drawing. His thumb brushed over the soft, open brow, index finger running down the petite chest and down one of the delicate thighs. He sighed, his heart softening at the tiny, shy smile gracing the man's cheeks. A steaming plate was set in front of him and Ivan knew, as the food cooled, what his decision would be.

* * *

Whenever Ivan started on a new project, he would stay holed up in his studio for days on end, sometimes weeks. Eventually, after many projects completed on a painfully empty stomach, he decided that he would have a pantry full of food for every painting, statue, or other work of art that he was working on. That way, he wouldn't have to leave to make food or starve himself.

Ivan returned home, arms taut with the weight of the goods, and made his way to the studio. He began to sort everything out into its place, bowls, plates, and cupboards overflowing with food. The stonemason came by just as he was finishing putting everything away. He paid for the slab of marble (only the best, finest quality marble for the beauty), and began setting up the room for the right lighting. Something bright, something that would really set off his sharp chin round nose, and full cheeks. He opened the curtains just a bit and let the light flow through onto the marble slab. With the dim light of the rest of the room, the Sunbeam looked like a spotlight, perfect for his latest creation. He marked off the spot for later reference and set to work. Ivan got out a slab of clay and pinned his drawing to the wall in front of his desk. Before he could do anything to the marble, he had to first make his scale model out of clay. Seating himself and cracking his knuckles, the artist began to sculpt the drawing into 3D.

He worked for hours upon hours, taking a break once to relieve himself in the toilet and to eat an apple. When Ivan finally finished, he gave a wide, radiant smile at the figure before him. Taking into account every feature of the man, he spared no cheekbone, eyelid, fingernail, or wrist to make the sculpture perfect. Now that he had his proportions, he could begin on the marble. Moving the slab from its former place by the now moonlit window, the artist set out all his tools. Each chisel and hammer were set in their exact right place, neat and orderly, just the way Ivan liked it. He let them sit there for a moment, just staring at the clay before him.

Something fluttered in Ivan's chest, a strange, warm feeling spreading throughout his body. He laughed out loud, spinning throughout the studio, grinning at the madness of his actions. He spun right into the clay piece, almost knocking it over. He caught it by the waist and was breath-taken by the grace and beauty the man held. He leaned down, very slowly, very carefully, and lightly pressed his lips to the clay. The perfect lips Ivan had sculpted were cold and hard. He righted the statue and went to the bathroom to wash up, embarrassed at his actions.

 _I couldn't really have feelings for a statue, could I?_

* * *

That night, Ivan tossed and turned, still unable to get the man out of his mind. When he awoke from his restless sleep, he assured himself that these thoughts were only the product of sleep deprivation and devotion to the project. But as he finished the shaping of the head and shoulders of the marble, he found himself glancing over at the angelic mold, longing for the sculpture to reach out to him, to stroke his arm with a loving smile, to laugh at the crudeness of his incomplete statue.

Ivan slowly set down his chisel and hammer, imagining just how his angel would laugh. His smile, so soft and sweet, led him to believe that the model would giggle with a fluttering, graceful tone, much like a...woman. His thoughtful expression hardened at the mention of his least favorite sex, and he began to work again, with vigor. With his attraction and confusion fueling his work, Ivan finished the statue in record time.

* * *

He was finished. There was nothing more to be added to the sculpture. Everything was perfect. Yet...it was all so horrible. Ivan had absentmindedly given the statue a proper name, something exotic. French. Mathieu. It was such an elegant, graceful name. And Ivan was hopelessly in love with it. Unable to cope with his feelings for a man made of marble, Ivan found himself in a place where he'd never thought he would set foot in. The Temple of Aphrodite. He came at night, so no one would see him enter. He made a large sacrifice of lamb as well as fruits and nuts. Then, he knelt and prayed without shame.

 _Oh Aphrodite, goddess of love, grant me this one request. For I have never come to you with pleas of finding a woman, or man, for that matter. I wish to be with my first and only love. He is...a statue, that I have sculpted. Though I am not sure if you can grant this wish or not, I plead that you try. Please, make this beloved angel of mine come to life. He shall be sweet and kind. Caring, loving, and funny. Compassion will run through his veins and his hands will always be gentle. Oh, Aphrodite, goddess of love, I only wish for this man, my love, Mathieu._

He finished and quickly left, rushing back to his studio and promptly falling asleep at his desk.

* * *

Ivan awoke late in the day, with the sun shining high in the sky. That had been his first night of real sleep he had gotten since starting his statue. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched, nearly taking out a vase of freshly cut sunflowers. _What? Where did these come from?_ He just yawned and shrugged. _Katyusha must have left them out._ He stopped before exiting the room, still feeling as though something was amiss. Still, in his fuzzy sleep state, he shook it off as nothing and made his way down the hall. _Wait. Is that...singing?_ Normally Ivan would have guessed that one of his sisters would be singing, but neither of them had plans to visit until the next week. Who could that be? Now fully awake from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he crept through the house until he had made it to the kitchen. A man was standing there, washing and drying dishes. Ivan didn't recognize him and angrily called out, "You there! What are you doing in my-" his heart stopped. "M-Mathieu," The young man slowly turned, eyes wide with fear.

"I-I'm so s-sorry, Ivan. I meant to leave as soon as I woke up, but I saw the mounds of dishes and couldn't help but clean them-" Ivan stepped closer to him, cornering the man on the counter. Hand shaking, he reached out to touch the other man's cheek. _It was him._

Mathieu flinched, but relaxed as he realized Ivan was only being gentle. He leaned his cheek into Ivan's large, calloused hand, and startled the other with the delicate, peach-like quality of his face. Ivan couldn't believe his prayer had been answered. He let out a broken breath as his shoulders sagged; Ivan didn't know he was crying until his angel's hands rose from his sides to wipe his tears, their eyes watery as well.

"Mathieu-I-" Ivan tried to say something, anything, but the heavenly being in front of him let out a breathy laugh, smiled, and pressed his lips against Ivan's.

They were soft, pliable, and warm, in complete contrast to the clay sculpture he'd kissed mere days ago. Ivan kissed like a man who had been struck through the heart with Cupid's bow; he parted Mathieu's lips with his own, dipping his tongue into his angel's mouth, memorizing the feeling of this sacred connection. Mathieu tangled one of his hands in Ivan's silver hair, the other gripping his tan shoulder. Reaching around to the blonde's lower back, Ivan hoisted him up onto the countertop. Their lips broke apart, and Mathieu leaned his forehead into Ivan's, laughing, and breathing deeply from the severity of the kiss.

The artist, suddenly somber, pulled Mathieu into his chest, fingers carding through his soft, sweetly scented hair.

"Don't ever leave me," he whispered. Mathieu pulled back from the embrace, smiling. "I was sent from Aphrodite herself," he half chuckled. "There is no force in this world that could stop me from loving you." Ivan hugged him tighter at the affirmation.

"I've loved you since I first thought of you," he mumbled into Mathieu's golden locks. "I've loved you since you first drew me," Mathieu responds, squeezing Ivan's midsection tighter. Taking a deep breath, Ivan unfurls slightly from the embrace, only to swing Mathieu up and around in a circle, dancing around the kitchen.

His angel cried out, then broke into laughter as he was swung about. Mathieu's locks looked like a grain field swaying in the breeze of a sunset. His laugh was comparable to the sweet song of a nightingale; his smile was so bright, the rest of the world seemed to dim in comparison. _I will never not love you_ , Ivan thought to himself, a small smile spread onto his face.

He thought back to the hatred that had started his project, and for once in his life, Ivan was thankful for women.


End file.
